“That’s ridiculous!” Vi says. “Why do you think she feels that way?”
That was one of Vi’s therapist’s favorite questions.
“She had kind of a hard life before she met my dad.” Cece goes back to petting Rogue. “Her parents were first-generation immigrants, and they had to work really hard for everything. Her dad left her mom and got remarried and had a whole other family. Money was tight. Abuela Maria worked super long hours, so my mom practically raised her little brothers. I think she feels like she married up, you know? A family that was more established here, that had their own business instead of cleaning houses for other people. I mean, it’s not like she married my dad for money or anything. They’re in love. But I’ve never heard him compliment her on how smart she is. It’s always how pretty she looks. And he’s the same way with me.”
“But you get straight As!” Vi says, outraged. Cece’s always on the honor roll.
“Yeah.” Cece gives her a gorgeous, dimpled grin. “I do.”
They’ve both run out of carrots. They pet the horses in silence for another minute or two, and then, one by one, the horses wander away.
Cece turns to face Vi. “You’re a good listener.”
“You’re interesting.” Vi drops her eyes to the fence, tracing the top rail with one fingertip. “I mean…no problem.”
Cece laughs. “I guess I don’t think of myself as very interesting.”
“I don’t think of myself as confident,” Vi confesses. “Mostly I feel awkward, like I was raised by wolves and don’t know how to interact properly with other humans. I guess I’m a feral bookstore child.” Cece’s looking at her—really looking at her—and she can’t seem to stop talking. “I’m more comfortable with books than with people.”
“Me too. I just fake it really well.” Cece is still looking at her, and Vi knows she is blushing. “I feel like maybe too much of my life is faking things lately.”
Vi wants to tell Cece that she can change that, but she knows it’s easier said than done. Instead, she reaches out and touches Cece’s arm. Cece’s skin is soft and warm against her fingertips. Then Vi lets her hand fall to her side. “I’m here any time you want to talk.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.” They look at each other for a minute, and Vi has to force herself not to hold her breath. Her heart is racing. Then Cece’s phone buzzes, and she pulls it out of her pocket. “It’s Ben. I should probably go back to the party. You want to walk back with me?”
Vi looks over at the horses and up at the stars. “No,” she says. She needs some time to think about everything that’s happened. “I think I’ll stay here a little bit longer.”
Chapter Thirteen
DES
On Tuesday afternoon, Gram stops by Arden after physical therapy.
“Hi, honey. How are things going?” Gram’s using a cane now instead of her walker, but her mouth always looks a little pinched after physical therapy, despite her toothy smile and signature red lipstick.
“Slow.” Des sighs. There have hardly been any customers since she opened the store at ten. Outside, their neighbors scurry past with umbrellas, eager to escape the rain. “How was physical therapy?”
“All right.” Gram makes her way behind the counter, takes off her rain-speckled glasses, and wipes them on her long gray tunic. “Honey, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Des’s stomach twists. “Is everything okay?” This is how Gram started the conversation last month about her power of attorney and end-of-life care. They also discussed her will, the money she’s set aside for each of the girls, and her funeral wishes. It was awful. Des hopes they won’t have to revisit it for another twenty years at least.
“I hope so. Don’t look at me like that; I’m fine.” Gram runs a hand over her straight, shoulder-length gray hair. “You know we had our girls’ night last night.”
Des nods. Gram’s “girls” are the sixty- and seventy-year-old town matriarchs, grandmothers, and savvy businesswomen who run some of Remington Hollow’s most successful shops and restaurants. They get together every Monday night when Tia Julia’s is closed to drink sangria and play cards and gossip.
“I don’t like to tell tales out of school,” Gram starts. Which is a bit of a stretch. Des is nosy, and she knows exactly who she gets it from. “I don’t know if I should say anything at all.”
“Now you’ve got me curious, so you have to.” Des suspects that is exactly what Gram intended.
Gram’s blue eyes brighten behind her glasses, and she settles back into the sturdy, flowered armchair beside the counter. “Lydia said her granddaughter went out to the Penningtons’ with you on Saturday night,” she begins.
Uh-oh.
“She did.” Des scoots past Gram, out from behind the counter and over to the racks of board books. She’s been worried that this conversation was coming. That Gram would find out she smoked weed with Paige and give her a lecture. Kat and Vi aren’t stupid. They must have wondered why Des let Kat drive home. Or why her hair reeked of smoke. Or why she and Paige were so giggly in the back seat. Des is not the giggly type.
Would one of her sisters actually tattle, though? Without talking to her first? She scans her memory for recent offenses, but she can’t think of any reason they’d want to get her in trouble.
Des frowns. Why is she freaking out about this? She is technically, legally, an adult. Gram trusts her to run the bookstore, to hold her power of attorney, to take care of Kat and Vi if something terrible happens. Why is Des still scared of getting in trouble, like she’s still in high school?
“I think I’m going to reorganize the board books. They’re a mess,” she announces. Toddlers are always pulling them out and throwing them on the floor, and their harried parents don’t put the books back in the right section.
“You want to reorganize?” Gram laughs. “You’re good at a lot of things, Des, but organization isn’t one of them. What are you avoiding?”
“Nothing!” Des yanks books off the rack. She has a bad habit of losing interest halfway through organizational projects and convincing Bea or Vi to finish them. But she needs something to do with her hands right now. “What were you saying about Paige?”
Gram hesitates. “Lydia is worried. I don’t know what Paige has told you about why she’s in town this summer…”
“Not much,” Des admits. Only that it wasn’t her decision. But Paige is twenty-one, which is pretty old to be shipped off to spend the summer with her grandma. The more Des thinks about it, the stranger it seems that—as a senior in college—Paige is waitressing at Tia Julia’s and not doing an internship at some fancy art gallery in Baltimore. Does she need the money?